


I Sing the Body

by elimiller09 (youngmoneymilla)



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Drama, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Jealousy, Knifeplay, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Romance, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-03
Updated: 2018-12-04
Packaged: 2019-09-06 14:51:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,617
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16834813
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/youngmoneymilla/pseuds/elimiller09
Summary: Only you can sate Bucky’s darkness.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a two-parter. This is a character study on Bucky and his relationship with his other identity as the Winter Soldier. There is smut in this part but, there will be INTENSE smut in the second part. Also, I based “August” on Henry Cavill becausec um why the fuck not and yes, I saw Mission Impossible.

It was not in his nature to be jealous. Bucky Barnes had done so many awful things that he did not think himself worthy of any gifts that came his way.

And then there was you.

He could not, _would not_ , be jealous when it came to you.

But, that was easier said than done.

He doesn’t quite remember when the two of you began. He cannot pinpoint the exact moment you had thoroughly nested yourself within his body like a fluttering bird - thin-boned and melodic.

He supposes it was the time that Steve had sent you both on a mission by yourselves. The two of you had taken a road trip to monitor a Hydra location in bum fuck West Virginia.

In between the spying and recon, the entire trip had been the two of you splitting greasy pizzas and eating cold Chinese in a sparse, decaying Best Western off the highway. Bucky and you passed the time by swapping stories and playing cards.

It was as if Bucky had seen you for the first time. Gone was the sleek leather of your uniform and the tight, constraining ponytail you favored. Instead, you were splayed out on the moth eaten duvet of the motel bed, your hair spilling out of a lopsided bun – your skin dappled with sweat due to the broken AC.

Previously, the two of you had only shared brief greetings at the compound. You were close to Steve, Sam and especially Natasha. But, you seemed to treat him with a sly distance. It was here, in this ugly cavern in the middle of nowhere, did you start to relax. You were exuberant and bone-chillingly sarcastic. You had made him laugh – deep belly laughs that had him rubbing tears from his eyes and nearly choking on his tongue.

Simply put, you had transfixed him and he had had zero idea how he had not seen you, truly seen you, before.

When the mission was over, Bucky drove you both back to New York. You spent the entire trip, repositioning yourself, brushing up against him and sighing and if that wasn’t so utterly disconcerting, the mental images that accompanied those slight shifts of your weight had nearly driven him off the road three times.

By the time you arrived at the compound, Bucky Barnes had never wanted to fuck someone more than he wanted to fuck you.

* * *

In the deep of winter, Bucky joins you and Steve on a mission in Montana.

Ever since Virginia, your relationship has remained stagnant much to Bucky’s dismay. You’ll spar with him or slip him friendly winks but, you do the same with Sam so, Bucky is uncertain where the two of you stand.

The three of you are driving down icy, snow clogged roads to the cabin Steve has rented. There is nothing but, masses of dark, towering trees: a sea of green, crested with black waves and rolling thick across the landscape. Bucky glances through the bag of books you brought, picking an especially heavy one to look at. He turns the pages carefully, the paper dry and brittle beneath his flesh fingertips.

He suddenly laughs out loud, dry and brittle as the paper, at his discovery. “You read these things? In Latin?”

You’re stretched out in the back, the sleek of your neck arching as you crack it. He barely catches your distracted, “Yeah” before you shift yourself to stare out the window.

The heater is blasting hot air onto his skin and the book weighs heavy in his hands and he suddenly feels stupid not knowing this about you. Steve looks not at all surprised, a small smirk curving his lips. Bucky is positive he already knew this because Steve reads every single god damn report. Even the fine print.

Fucking Over Achiever

A day later, you’re bored out of your mind and have resorted to wandering around the cabin and pouting like a petulant child.

Steve is lying on the bed, going over notes from your earlier recon. Bucky is reading a book in a plush armchair in the corner, boots propped up and dripping melted snow from your earlier excursion.

You enter the room with a look of practiced innocence on your face. You pad across the wood floor before dropping down onto the bed, getting on all fours to stalk panther-like towards Steve.

Steve’s cheeks flush at the sight and Bucky wants to kick Steve right off the bed with his heavy boot because no one should be in that position but, him.

Your voice is a low purr, all persistent charm and sugar sweet. “Let’s go shooting, Stevie. It’ll be fun.”

Steve frowns and shuffles the notes on his stomach like a frazzled father. “No way. It’s zero degrees outside.”

You paw at his hands and fix him with a tender, winsome smile. Bucky feels his heart plummet as that smile goes straight to his groin. He is only slightly (extremely) miffed that you’re the one on your knees begging Steve and not him.

“Please, Steve. Please…”

But, Steve avoids your fluttering eyes, refusing to be sucked into your games. He shakes his head and laughs.

“Jesus, No! But, I bet Bucky will. He’s crazy enough to do it. Right, pal?” Steve glances at him and there’s a slight sparkle in the blue of his eyes. A slight _knowing_.

Maybe, Steve is more observant than he originally gave him credit for.

You turn your head to look at Bucky and that unbearably alluring smile is trained on him.

“Sure, doll. When have I ever turned down the chance to shoot something?”

You clap your hands together and jump off the bed, bounding into Bucky as he falls against the wall. He catches you in his arms and the pressure of your body slides against his own. You kiss him loudly on the cheek before racing out of the room to change.

Bucky’s face must look utterly floored because Steve merely shakes his head and chuckles quietly to himself.

“Shut up, punk,” Bucky snaps before going to get his coat.

* * *

The two of you slink out into the night like two slippery ghosts.

It’s a sea of darkness, pregnant with thick clouds. The moon herself is thin and meek, barely visible behind the fervor of black sky.

You’re both wrapped in jackets – enough padding for enhanced humans. You walk beside him, matching his stride and listening to their boots on the snow. The soft hush of your weights falling, lifting, falling as you both move out together to a cold, empty clearing. You're his partner in crime and the thought makes him grin like an idiot.

The air is sharp, it stings the skin of his cheeks, makes his sinus ache as he looks up into the night. This cold does not remind him of cryo. It feels fresh, feels real.

As you move through the snow, you tell him some story about pranking Clint by hiding in the vents and he laughs so hard that his breath comes out in large, white blooms.

You smile up at him, your teeth white and perfect, your lashes and eyes wet from the chill in the air.

He shoulders his gun to move a lock of your hair behind your ear. Just as he pulls his hand away you clasp it quickly, pressing the softest of kisses against his palm. It feels fragile and heavy all at the same time. Before he can say anything, you crush your lips to his. It’s brief but, it heats his soul and causes his heart to slam against his chest.

You grin at him and skip forward - the snow crackling under your feet like dry leaves. You leave him staring after you – dazed and flustered and feeling alarmingly small.

He looks up at the birch moon. It idly watches you both from above as if plotting its own new beginning and yours.

* * *

Bucky is a fucking idiot and maybe, you are too.

Their relationship morphs from that one innocent kiss into something wild, untangled, and primal. He didn’t know you had it in you and he didn’t know he had it in himself.

For a while, Bucky doesn’t understand what exactly they’re playing at. Internally, Bucky is a worry-gnawed mess. He’s completely unsure what this situation is because every time it’s over, you’re out the door with that perfect, winsome smile on your face that makes him feel untethered. He doesn’t know if you want him or his body. He finally gets the courage to flat out ask you but, he doesn’t really ask because he makes it sound like a decision more than anything.

And that’s where he thinks he dropped the ball.

He’s just finished thoroughly fucking you. The two of you both bruised, sweat drenched and shaking from the after shocks of your climaxes. You gently push him off of you, patting his cheek affectionately.

As you slip your pale blue t-shirt on, Bucky finds himself scrambling upwards to finally bring up what’s been eating away at him.

“So, this is just sex, right?” he asks a little more roughly than he intended.

Your head shoots up and your eyes grow round and large. Bucky isn’t sure but, he swears a flash of sadness crosses your expression before you blind him with a smile.

“Yeah. Just sex,” you repeat carefully. Your tone seems strained – as if you’re coiled tight enough to snap. But, that smile is still unnervingly bright and Bucky can’t read you.

“I just – I wasn’t sure what you wanted from this.” He gestures toward the crumpled sheets that are still damp from your skin. It’s a little crude on his part.

“I don’t want anything from you, Buck,” you reply shortly.

All of a sudden, he feels like he’s gone about this the wrong way. Maybe, he was frightened you would have laughed in his face if he had asked you for more. He simply didn’t know how to play this because you were an enigma to him – a tangled web of humor and wit and feverish sexuality. It left him weak.

You seem to notice his internal struggle and you slink up to him – rolling your hips and flipping your hair over your shoulder.

“This feels good, doesn’t it?” You coo, pressing yourself up against him. Your fingers thread through his hair, gently tugging it. Your mouth is a breath away from his.

He winds his arms around your waist and pulls you tightly against his body. Something akin to a surprised sigh falls from your mouth at the movement. He feels the soft, plush curves of your breasts pressed against his chest.

“Sometimes you make me feel better than I ever have before.” You nuzzle your face into his neck and his breath hitches in his throat. He swallows thickly.

You trail one hand lazily down his stomach, his muscles flexing beneath your nails. When your hand wraps around his cock and gives it one careful, languid stroke, he grunts into the delicate shell of your ear. His hands grasp your biceps tightly as you croon to him.

“ _This_ ,” You circle the head of his cock. His eyes are shut but, he already knows it’s angry and red. He’s fit to burst. Your thumb swipes at the pre cum and you tenderly kiss the pulsing vein at his throat. “This breathes life into me, Bucky. It’s just sex so, stop over thinking it, baby.”

And so, he stops thinking. Instead, he shoves you onto the bed and fucks you until your voice goes ragged and hoarse.

* * *

The sex gets dirtier and darker after that. There is a simmering violence between each thrust of his hips and scratch of your nails. You’re breaking into each other.

He’s mesmerized by you and your ability to meet him at every level. He didn’t know that this was the missing link to his recovery. That sex – unconstrained and raw – has helped him accept the darker parts of himself.

Somewhere along the way, the Winter Soldier had bled into Bucky Barnes – a thought that he would never admit out loud. He should have been able to sate his own damnable darkness. He figured, with enough of his horrible misdeeds tucked away inside, there were enough areas for them to crawl up into and wither away.

But, that was the basis for insanity, wasn’t it? Deal with enough evil and terror on a regular basis – some initiated by him, some forced upon him – and he could just seal those moments into the deepest parts of himself – never to reflect upon them despite knowing that they’ve contributed to the person he is today.

Unfortunately, he couldn’t truly hide from himself within himself, right?

And so, he had you. You had given yourself to him in all the ways he has asked you. You’re game without a question. He paints in you the dark letters of his past and you let him. He could show you his dark side without judgement or penance.

And it was because you understood. You hadn’t revealed everything about your past but, there were things you had hinted at. You had once been tortured by Hydra – made and molded into their very own gun-slinging, knife wielding demi god with the face of an angel.

There are moments where your eyes shift, your breath hitches and the slightest of trembles flutters from your fingertips when you recount your life before the Avengers. Nothing is lost on him when it comes to you.

As it stood, Bucky Barnes appreciates you for what you are: a gorgeous blossom with petals of strength, fragility, deadly caliber; a thorned rose, pink lipstick and black garters. Arsenic and white lace.

At one point, he drags you into an empty storage room. He takes you between floor mats and cold, metal lock boxes. Despite the sterile quality of the room, it’s all heat between the two of them. He wrenches pleasure from your body to the point where you crumble at the touch of his fingers and lips and cock. He has you up against the wall, your face pressed into plaster as he drives into you. He has a death grip on your hips, fingers digging so hard that if you had been a normal human, he would have cracked your bones.

Instead, you simply twist your head, lips puffy and kiss bruised as you whisper harder.

His metal hand comes down hard on your ass as he thrusts into you at a frenzied pace. The skin jiggles as he marks you and he spreads you open to watch where the two of you are joined. It’s all slick wetness and graphically crude noise. He groans.

“You’re taking me so damn well, baby.”

You’re moaning beneath him, your fist comes up and slams into the wall as you huff out another breath.

“Bucky,” you whimper and he knows exactly what you want when you say his name like that - breathy and begging.

His silver hand finds the bundle at the juncture between your thighs. You’re so wet, his own hand keeps sliding on skin.

“So wet, kitten. So fucking wet.” He’s hardly making sense now and he flicks and rubs you until you’re a panting, wheezing mess beneath him.

As you come, he feels you clench around him so tightly that it makes him go slightly cross eyed. He follows with a grunt before losing his balance and falling to the floor - taking you with him. He carefully cradles you against him so, that you hit his chest instead of the cold linoleum.

“Fuck, you’re amazing, printsessa,” he sighs, catching your hip and tugging you to him. You flinch in his grip and gently remove his hand. He forgot that you hate pet names unless he’s inside you.

You stand up and move to gather your clothes. He tries to catch your legs with his hand in an effort to pull you back to him but, he misses.

You slide your zippers up and clip your buttons back into place and you’re gone.

* * *

They’re kicking ass on a mission. It’s the whole team and they already knew they won the second they entered the facility.

Now, they’re having fun.

You and Natasha are laying waste to a group of Hydra agents while Bucky takes a portion of them out from afar. You’re about to snap the neck of one rather piggish looking operative before Bucky blasts him back with a single bullet. Your head shoots up and you pout at him before flipping him off. He laughs and blows you a kiss.

He’s back to helping Steve take out another group when he overhears Natasha talking to you.

“How was that date with the SHIELD guy? What’s his name? Adam?” Natasha asks you.

“August,” you mutter before slamming your fist into another agent’s head.

“Right! Fuck, he’s good looking,” Natasha says loudly enough that even Steve hears.

“Can you guys focus on the mission?” He chastises.

“No!” Nat snaps back. “So, how was it?”

You aren’t paying attention but, you seem to send a quick furtive glance in Bucky’s direction as if to make sure he isn’t listening. Or maybe to make sure he is.

“It was fine,” you offer. “He’s a really nice guy. Took me to that amazing Italian place in Brooklyn we love. No idea how he knew I liked it.”

Natasha sends you a smirk and you glare at her. “Wow, Nat. You’re good.”

“I wanted you to get laid. Sue me”

“I don’t need to get laid, Nat,” you reply back sharply.

Again, you glance at Bucky who is doing everything in his power not to look at you. He feels sick to his stomach.

You finish the last agent before hurriedly making your way back to the jet with Nat jogging after you. Most likely to get more horrific details Bucky thinks.

“Woah, dude,” Sam yells. “You okay?”

Bucky looks down and realizes he’s cracked his gun completely in half, the pieces fall to the floor in a clatter.

He sees red. A coiling thick serpent of jealousy and anger has settled itself in his gut and is constricting his insides. Like a man possessed, Bucky makes his way to the Quinjet – his heavy boots leaving indents in the metal ramp.

You’re sidled up against the wall, strands of your hair falling around your face. You turn to look at him and offer him a sad smile. It nearly stops him – your beauty always making him forget.

But, this time it’s not enough.

He moves behind you so, that he can tower over your form. His hands wrap around your biceps and he pulls you so hard against his chest that he hears your teeth click in your mouth.

“What the fu-“ you hiss.

“Shut up,” he growls against your ear. His voice is rough, gravely -commanding enough that he’s suddenly a little too aware that Soldat is making an appearance. He’s not surprised; he tends to appear when something that is his is touched.

“When we get back home, I’m going to remind you exactly who you belong to, baby.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky can’t lose you.

The flight back to the compound is unsettling.

His blood is hot, burning beneath his skin and making his nostrils flare and lips peel back. He’s staring out the glass window of the Quinjet. They pass over a cornfield and he gazes into it: it blurs a little, dulls and darkens under the thick tinted glass. The steady thrum of the engine conducts the golden-black mass into a bleak, brilliant ripple; dark and bright at the same time.

Bucky feels pleasantly hypnotized: a balm for his aching blood, his whirring arm. He feels your eyes stabbing into the back of his neck and he refuses to look at you. Not yet. Not until they’re home.

Bucky Barnes had waited for no woman, and certainly no girl. But, you were an exception. That he could decidedly break his own rules for kicks comforted him a little.

You have bewitched him. He wants to tell you that he cannot forget you, that you have thoroughly molded him to be yours. Every night he leaves you, he creeps back to his bed in the darkness and sleeps the fevered dream of the unredeemable, dreaming of you, and always waking up damp and moaning.

He has never been so unmasked by someone before. So torn apart. The thought of you no longer being his was inconceivable and you would have to understand that. You needed to know.

When the Quinjet lands, you’re already out the door and down the ramp. He’s bounding after you, ignoring the curious glances from the team.

He thinks you’re heading to your room but, you surprise him when you take a hard right and enter his instead. He follows you, slamming the door causing the walls to shake.

They stare at each other hard and Bucky is enjoying the way your glare is intensifying. He’s practically towering over you, your torso brushing against his. He admires the quick rise and fall of your chest – the scooped neck of your uniform offering a tantalizing display of collarbone – the shadow of your cleavage.

“Did he touch you?” Bucky growls.

“Does it matter?” you counter. Your arms are crossed over your chest protectively, your eyes shining with a fury he’s only seen you use on the battlefield.

“Yes!” he snaps back. “Yes! It fucking matters.”

“Excuse me? This is what you wanted.” You shove him and he stumbles backward. “You’re so fucking selfish.”

Something in your gaze changes and it unnerves him. Your eyes are glittering, black as the night sea under a gold moon. A placid, opaque surface that hides unfathomed depths – brimming beneath with hidden hungry things.

“I can’t live like this, Bucky,” you finally admit – raising your chin in defiance. “I don’t care what’s passed between us. I was insane to start this in the first place.”

He’s stunned by your words – floored that you might not actually care about him. Once again, it is as if life is letting Bucky Barnes know he cannot keep a single thing he loves – that it will always be ripped from his grasp. He quickly schools his features so; you miss the light draining out of his eyes.

It’s war then.

And he can play at war.

He grins wryly and steps slowly towards you.

“I know how much you care, sweetheart,” he drawls – voice thick as sweet molasses. “I’ve heard the noises I pull from your body. I know how much you like it. You can’t deny that.”

You blink up at him; your red tongue passes between your full lips as if you were a cat considering a bowl of cream. He groans at the sight. You blink again and shake your head as if you have momentarily forgotten yourself.

“Stop it, Barnes,” you warn. “I don’t want you anymore.”

“And why is that, then? Because you think this other guy can give you something I can’t?” Bucky snarls. There is a weakness in his tone that is nearly tangible. He’s ashamed that you can fluster him so easily.

He can’t lose you.

“He can, Buck,” you explain tiredly. “He can give me – I don’t know – normalcy? A life outside of this?” You motion towards your blood splattered uniform.

He feels something in him snap. Darkness is splintering at the corners of his eyes and a scornful laugh bubbles up from within his chest that sounds alien to his own ears.

“Really, kitten? Normal?” he challenges – low and deep. He stands over you, caging you - his breath fanning across your forehead, your nose, your lips. “I know you, baby . I know every fucking part of you and you will never have normal. You’re just like me and there will be no cookie-cutter, fairytale happy ending for sinners like us.”

You look as if he has slapped you across the face. You mouth drops open, tears of rage welling in your eyes. He almost feels bad about it. Almost.

“I hate you,” you spit as you glare up at him. “You despicable, wretched - monster”

Suddenly there is a crash of glass splintering. You don’t even flinch as you sidestep the shards of the lamp on the floor where Bucky has thrown it.

Bucky turns you and grips your shoulders, pulling your face within an eyelash’s breadth of his own. He pulls his knife from his belt and presses the cold, sharp steel into your hand. The weight of it – the finely-honed edge feels as familiar to him as a dear friend. A dare sits on his lips as they part above you.

“If you think I’m such a monster, kill me. Cut my throat, because that’s the only way to end this,” he grunts.

You don’t even recoil, don’t even act shocked. You know him so well.

Your eyes drop to his neck and you raise the knife up delicately balancing it between your nimble fingers. He has seen you kill numerous people before. It’s an art form for you and perhaps he should think himself lucky to die by your hand.

Perhaps some sick piece of him buried deep wants to give you this last thing. After all, you always take what he gives you.

You lay the razor sharp edge against the throbbing pulse point at his throat. He does not move or swallow – instead he locks eyes with yours. You do falter then, sucking your lower lip between your teeth to chew it thoughtfully. Gone are the tears and instead your eyes are near black – dilated to sin. The same look you have when he slides home inside of you.

Currents of contempt, rage, and white-hot desire are simultaneously flooding through him. He hates that you have laid him bare with jealousy. He hates that you have brought the soldier back to the surface.

And yet he loves you for it, too.

Your tongue runs along your lips before you press the blade hard against his neck. He feels a wet, trickle of blood spider web down the skin of his throat. He hisses at the sharp bite and heat travels straight to his groan making him hard. Harder than he’s ever been before.

You lean forward, a doe-like curiosity painting your features, as you catch the rivulet of blood with your tongue. It’s a kitten lick – the softest wet caress. He growls low and deep, his hands flying up to tangle in your hair and pull you roughly to him. You’re now licking the length of the wound up and down – sucking at the little cut and leaving him dizzy.

He moans harshly and yanks you up by the hair bringing you to him for a bruising kiss. He invades your mouth with his tongue – hot and insistent. You taste like salt and bitter spice-tang – sweat and electricity.

He dives into you – falling beneath the translucent surface of the sea into the living dark below. With your mouth open beneath his, your silken cheeks rubbing against his prickly stubble, he loses himself. His ears are full of ocean-thunder, rhythmic as a heartbeat (yours or his own? he cannot tell) and all mixed with the strange sonorous haunt of your distant siren song.

He pulls another knife strapped to his thigh and deftly slices through the leather of your uniform. You make a sound – something between anger and satisfaction – against his lips.

You take your own knife and slice through his heavy vest - the thick buttons and metal zippers - until his own bare chest is gleaming in the fading light of his room.

You fall back against his bed, your arms covering your breasts as you look up at him.

“Playing at chastity now, printsessa?” He chuckles, his eyes appraising you.

“It’s all part of the game,” you retort.

He leans over you, his body covering yours. You tug the corners of his ripped vest to bring him closer. He kisses you again – his mouth demanding – biting your lower lip sharply enough that a droplet of blood comes to the surface. He licks it away – warm and metallic.

“You’ll be begging me to take you before the game is over,” he whispers against your mouth. Your fingers clutch at him tighter and he laughs again.

Bucky strips you of your uniform with quick precision. He thrusts his hand against your sex - you’re soaking. He smirks at you and you respond with a glare – annoyed that your body has so easily betrayed you. With each slip of his fingers, you involuntarily shudder and arch your hips – trying to find purchase for him to reach your most sensitive spot. He pulls his hand away and licks his fingers clean.

“Sweet,” he hums.

You look a fine mess. Panting in anger and thwarted climax, you sit up to run your fingertips across his chest and push his uniform off his shoulders. You flick his nipple with your tongue, licking the blood off that has spilled there from his neck wound. He groans against you as he cradles your head between his hands.

He pushes you back down roughly and you skate your nails across his chest. He can tell you’re trying to hurt him – to draw more blood and anger him as he has angered you. The two of you are sticks of dynamite – leaded gasoline – ripe fruit ready to explode in summer heat.

He wraps his metal hand around your wrists and places them above your head to hold you open to him. You strain against him and he’s fairly certain you aren’t using all of your strength to fight. You thrust a knee up and nearly hit him the groin. He grabs your leg in a bruising grip.

“I wouldn’t do that if I was you, darling. You might be sorry.”

“I’m already pretty god damn sorry right now,” you snap spitefully.

He smiles and slides his hand between your thighs to hold them apart. He blows gently against your slick pussy and you buck your hips against him. He travels up your body to blow another puff of air across your nipple – admiring as it tightened in the cold. You were writhing against him now, your chest heaving.

“Bucky, baby, please,” you whimper.

“I like it when you call me baby,” he replies huskily.

He reaches under the bed and grabs the forgotten knife that has left him bleeding. He taps it against the curve of your hip, stroking where your leg meets your pelvis. He leaves a thin scratch – nothing serious but, it stands out. It’ll heal by tomorrow.

“Look at me, printsessa.”

You glance down at him – eyes half-lidded and smoky with want. He lowers his head, his gaze still holding yours, and licks the scratch, just as you had done to him. You moan loudly and lewdly, your thighs thrashing against his steel grip.

“Bucky! Please!,” you cry. “Do you want me to beg. Is that it?”

He touches the very tip of his tongue to the nub of flesh above your cunt before taking it away. Another bone-weary sob falls from your mouth.

“Of course, I want you to beg,” he admits hoarsely. “I want you to tell me what you want and I want you to tell me that it’s me you want doing it to you.”

You sigh, closing your eyes briefly before looking up at him again. For a second, he’s terrified that you won’t - that you’ll ask him to stop. Again, your beauty destroys him. Your perfect face and secret smile that you save only for him nearly makes him want to tug you up and against him and beg you to love him.

He wants you to love him and not what his body does to you.

“I want you to use your mouth, Bucky,” you nearly whisper. “Taste me. I beg you. Make it stop.”

He hears the desperation in your tone and it hits him right at the center of his chest. You need him.

He groans and dips his tongue against your folds. He flicks and laves at you, sliding his tongue into your opening and tasting you. You arch your back, thighs tightening around his head.

“Oh, Bucky,” you pant. Your fingers dig into his scalp.

He slides one long finger into your hot channel, crooking it and rubbing at the tender spot inside of you. You moan louder, writhing beneath his steady arms and he flicks you with his tongue, drawing the nub of flesh between his teeth and gently sucking it. He feels you stiffen beneath him before you come against his lips.

Not a moment goes by before you’re pleading to him again.

“Buck, Baby, I want all of you,” you gasp. “Fuck me. Please.” You open your legs wider and thrust your hands down his pants.

He grabs your wrist “Woah, hold on, sweetheart.”

You pout and he allows you to slowly undo his utility belt so, he can pull his pants down his legs. Your hand wraps around his cock and you guide him inside you. He stops before he’s inside – the head of his cock brushing against your folds.

He hovers over you, caging you between his arms.

“Say it again, darling,” he demands softly. “Say it again.”

You hum it into the curve of his ear so that it echoes and reverberates within his chest and heart and the pit of his belly.

“Fuck me, James,” you say.

He growls and slides into you with one deep thrust. Every inch of you feels like nirvana on his cock, stroking and squeezing; so tight and hot and wet.

The two of them find a furious, pulsating rhythm: a dance of teeth, tongues and bodies that has driven all of the white rage and animosity from them. Bucky bites your neck, while you rake your nails down his lower back, digging them deep into his ass and drawing him further into you. You cling to him as he thrusts over and over, murmuring soft words… “ya lyublyu tebya, moye serdtse, lyublyu tebya” ( I love you, my heart, I love you)

The air in the room is hot and hungry, gnashing at them like teeth and he can feel the graze of every incisor.

They moan together in unison. Sweat is dripping down Bucky’s forehead, sliding across his lips and onto your face as you lick it off. Feral, low grunts are falling from his mouth with each stroke of his hips.

He does not think he can get more deeply inside you and yet he thinks it will never be enough. He wants your senses to flood him, to exorcise him, to purify him. They come together at the end and he groans like a man dying, a man with nothing left as he empties himself into you.

Then there is only stillness and quiet.

In addition to the mission, the sex has ravaged you both and suddenly exhaustion has melded into his bones and left him unbearably drowsy. You’re still clinging to him, your lips against his chest, cheek against his beating heart. He tries to pull himself away but, you tug him back to you. Your eyes slip shut and your breath grows steady.

Bucky follows you into sleep.

* * *

Hours later, he awakes to silence. The room is nothing but, blue shadow and fading dusk.

Suddenly, with the lust haze having faded, the events of what happened seem horrifically real. He sits up immediately and rolls over to sit at the edge of the bed to place his head in his hands. The cut on his throat is a muddled ache, a reminding sting.

He touches his neck tentatively He looks at the blood on his hand – the blood on your hip. Blood brings pain but, it also brings healing. It’s necessary – reminds him that he’s human. Pain reminds him that he’s alive.

Even as the soldier (especially as the soldier) pain at the hands of Hydra’s finest reminded him that he was not dead. He was not all gone.

The sound of soft crying breaks him from his thoughts.

His head whips back to stare at you. There are tears flowing down your cheeks. You’ve curled yourself into a ball as though trying to hide from him.

“Oh no, baby,” he mutters, horrified. “No..stop, sweetheart.”

He lays behind you, wrapping you in his arms. He brushes your hair away from your face and turns you to him. He strokes your body gently as though calming a frightened animal.

“Shh, doll. I’m so sorry. I never should have said those things to you. I was just so angry…I wasn’t myself. I’d never hurt you,” he practically blubbers. He’s frightened himself with how he’s acted. He kisses your cheek and your tears flood his mouth.

“It’s not that,” you say in between heaving breaths, your fingers pressed into your eyes.

“Then what’s wrong? Why are you crying?”

“Because I fucking love you, alright?” you finally admit.

Bucky freezes. His mouth goes dry and he swears he can hear a pin drop. He’s blindsided.

How could he have not known?

It had always been as if you were giving him separate pieces of a puzzle, except he had no reference picture or box cover to work off of – to tell him exactly how many pieces there were or how they fit together. There had been moments he had thought he had formed something and yet he could not tell if he was just beginning or halfway done. He did not know what picture you wanted him to create.

He can feel tears pricking the corners of his eyes as he tries to swallow.

“You love me?” he chokes out.

You smile at him – that same winsome smile that drives him half wild. “Of course, I love you.”

A happiness, unlike any he has known, forms in the pit of his stomach. It spreads through his chest and allows him to breathe – deeply and fully.

He sees your lower lip, sleep swollen and smooth, even in the dark. He begins his claim there, pulling you back from your tears and what dreams you had dreamt before with the cool pressure of his own lips.

He wraps his arms around your waist, cradling you to him. He kisses your forehead, your nose, your cheeks, the delicate lids of your eyes and you grip his hair to pull him tightly against you.

He thinks that if he stops now, he will die.

You chase his mouth with your own, wrapping your legs around his waist. The energy between you growing intense – tangible and acrid.

“I need you doll. I want you. Please let me have you. Please…fuck-“ he begs.

You stare up at him wide eyed, a frown curving your lips.

“You already have me, Bucky,” you assure him softly and it’s like honey balm on his splintering soul. His anxiousness melts away and all of the wild, raw sex has bled into something else, something new.

This is love.

“But, August -?” he starts before you quickly press a finger to his lips to hush him.

“It’s always been you, Bucky. I just needed you to believe it.”

And as Bucky slides into you, cherishing the weight of your body and how you feel against him, he thinks back on his past and what has brought him here.

In an ordinary man’s life, he is offered a handful of opportunities: empathy, mercy, forgiveness, unconditional trust…and love, on occasion. Depending on how the odds favored him.

It seems that the odds have finally seen fit to give Bucky Barnes a chance.

**Author's Note:**

> I promise knife-play in the second part so, that’s coming.


End file.
